


The prisoner's dream

by NCSP



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, How Do I Tag, M/M, alternative universe, but it could've happened, even if we don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:36:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7876759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NCSP/pseuds/NCSP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loras is in his cell, and for the first time he's enjoying a moment of peace</p>
            </blockquote>





	The prisoner's dream

**Author's Note:**

> The following poem is my translation of Eugenio Montale's 'Il sogno del prigioniero'  
> I'll quote the original text in the end notes.

_Here sunrises and nights change but for a sign._

_The zigzag of the starlings on the turret mast_

_During the battle days, my only wings,_

_A breath of polar air,_

_The chief-guard’s eye from the peephole,_

_Crack of crushed walnuts, an oily_

_Sizzling in the mines, roasting-jacks_

_Real or alleged – **but the straw is gold,**_

**_The purple lantern is a fireplace_ **

**_If during my sleep I believe myself at your feet_ ** _._

_The purge is lasting forever, for no reason._

_They say that he who abjures and subscribes_

_Can save himself from his slaughter of geese;_

_That he who spares himself, but betrays_

_And sells others’ flesh, grasps the ladle_

_Instead of ending up as pâté_

_Destined o the pestilential Gods._

_Dull, covered in sores_

_For the prickly pallet I’ve merged_

_With the flight of the moths that my sole_

_Has crumbled on the flooring_

_With the iridescent kimonos of the lights_

_Showed off by the turrets at dawn_

_I sniffed in the wind the smell of burning_

_Of the cakes in the incinerators,_

_I looked around, evoked_

_Rainbows on orisons of cobwebs_

_And petals on the trellis of the bars_

_I rose, I fell back_

_To the bottom, where the century is the minute –_

_And the blows recur and the footsteps_

_And I’m still unaware if at the feast_

_I’ll be stuffer or stuffed. **The waiting is long**_

**_But my dream of you is not over_ ** _._

 

Loras raised his head from the pallet, which did very little to shield him from the hardness and the coldness of the floor. He didn’t know whether what he’d just heard was the noise of someone coming for him or not, but he wanted to be ready. Every time someone came into his cell was horrible and made him wish he could just disappear, but when he wasn’t aware of their coming it was even worse.

This time the noises were different, though.

They were muffled, almost soft. Something Loras had never heard since he’s been secluded in there. Everything there was cold, hard and apparently meant to hurt him. The only thing he didn’t hate or fear in his cell was the small window.

It was a little square of light, cut high in the wall opposed to the door, and it was his only hope. He could spend hours looking at that little remnant of sky, and he could ignore how hungry or thirsty he was when he was left alone for days. For the first weeks he’d tried to keep his mind sound by counting the hours, the days he’s spent rotting in there. Then he’d given up.

It was useless. He would have never got out of there, so why should he make the effort not to go mad?

In the end, he was scared. Terrified.

He’s always been good with a sword or a spear in his hands, many told him he was perfect when he was fighting, but he’d never found himself cornered that way. He would’ve easily bested all those Sparrows had he been given something to fight with, but now he was armless.

They were the ones coming with wooden sticks, punching him, kicking him, throwing him icy water and leaving him to starve alone and in the dark.

The noises were approaching, and Loras didn’t know what was coming for him now. He shrank back, hiding in the further corner from the door; he knew he couldn’t avoid whatever was coming, but it was pure instinct. As it was instinct when he begged for them to make it stop.

Suddenly, there was someone with him in the cell. It was strange, though, because he hadn’t seen the door opening, but probably he was going mad, so he paid it no mind.

Loras crouched in the corner, hiding his face against his shoulder and offering his back to whoever was in the cell with him, trying to procrastinate the pain he knew it was coming for as long as possible. He heard the footsteps approaching and crawled as far away as he could, but soon he found the wall in his way.

That was it. He couldn’t run, he couldn’t hide anymore.

He was cornered, trapped, unable to run.

That feeling was even worse than being beaten. He’s grown up as a prince, the heir to his house, and now he was powerless in front of those men he’d never considered more than dirt on his suede boots. What he was feeling were pure panic and hopelessness, and he knew he was about to start crying.

“Lor, what are you doing?”

That voice. He hadn’t heard that voice in years, and now…

No. That couldn’t be _his_ voice. He was dead, Loras had buried him with his own hands, he had been the one dressing him up for his last appearance, choosing his favourite clothes and shedding warm tears in the process, with Margaery’s hand on his shoulder.

“Loras, look at me”

“I don’t know how you managed this, but please stop” Loras croaked, refusing to raise his eyes from the ground.

“What are you talking about?”

“Stop it. I don’t know which kind of sorcery is this but stop”

“Loras, it’s me. Look at me”

“No, it’s what they want. They want to ruin my memories of you but they won’t . You won’t ruin him, do you understand?” he yelled at Renly’s image in front of his eyes.

The resemblance was strikingly painful, and made Loras’ eyes fill up with tears.

“What? No, no. It’s me, Lor” Renly approached and bent down to meet his eyes “It’s me” he reached out a hand but Loras shirked away.

“Please, stop” Loras was begging now, unable to move away from the ghost of the love of his life.

“Loras, listen. It’s me. It’s Renly. I know you don’t believe me and that you’re scared, but I’m here for you. They’re not using me to get to you” he tried again to stroke his cheek, and this time Loras stood still.

“You can’t be here for real, you’re…”

“Dead? Yes, my love, I am. But I’m here” Renly slid beside him and put an arm around Loras’ shoulders.

“H-how?” the other man whispered.

“That’s a dream, love” Renly smiled to him and kissed his temple “They can’t enter your dreams, only spirits can. It’s just me and you”

“Me and you” Loras repeated.

“Exactly. So now stop trying to push me away”

“You’re here” Loras voice broke “You’re with me. I can feel you” he drew his hands on Renly’s chest, testing his compactness, how solid it seemed “I dreamt of you before, but not like this”

“You didn’t need me the way you need me now” Renly kissed his ruffled curls, holding him close, and Loras started crying.

“Help me” he begged between tears “Please”

“I can’t, love, I’m sorry. I’m dead. All I can do is be with you now. And wait for you” he added trying to calm down his golden boy “You must stay strong” Renly said, repeating his wife’s words.

“I can’t”

“You can. You’re my invincible Knight of Flowers, the captain of my Guards”

“And you’re dead” it came out as a half joke, and they smiled at each other despite Loras tears and how grim that place was.

“You couldn’t have prevented it. A shadow sent by my brother and his witch killed me, nothing human could’ve stopped it” Renly pulled him a little closer “Stop blaming yourself, I’ve already told you”

“I…”

“No,” Renly hushed him “You will stop now. Let’s not think about my death, alright? I don’t know for how long I’ll stay here, I don’t want to spend our time discussing something useless”

“Are you leaving me?” Loras gaze looked panicked again.

“Not as long as you’re asleep” this time Renly kissed him on his mouth, ignoring the split on his lips.

“Don’t leave me alone again, please” Loras curled up in his arms, almost as if he wanted to disappear into Renly’s touch “I can’t do it anymore”

“Loras, listen to me. You can do it. You fought against skilled and honourable men who had twice your experience and you won, you won’t let this beggars tear you down”

“It’s not the same. They…” his voice broke, and Loras was unable to tell Renly what they’ve been doing to him.

“I know. You can’t see me, but I’m always here” he was talking with his lips pressed against Loras’ skin “I’ve seen them and believe me, I’d kill them myself if only I could for what they’ve done to you”

“You hate blood” Loras whispered, out of nowhere.

“Yes, I do” Renly wiped away a drop of blood that was drying at the corner of Loras’ forehead “You have to do everything you need to do to get out of here, exactly as you’d do in a duel. Do you remember the Hand’s tourney? When Robert was celebrating Ned Stark’s arrival at King’s Landing?”

Loras nodded against his shoulder.

“You were fighting against Gregor Clegane. You knew you didn’t stand a chance against him, you were physically disadvantaged and fully aware that if he got to hit you with his spear you would have lost. But you won nonetheless. You tricked him. He didn’t know his stallion would have lost his mind over your mare, and you won”

Loras stared at him, not knowing where those words were leading.

“Do the same. Trick them”

“They’ll know”

“They won’t ,Lor. They will hear what they want to hear, nothing more. Give them what they want and then Margaery’ll take care of the rest”

“How’s she? Is she free?” one of the many things that had thrown Loras into despair was not knowing where his sister was; he was fully aware Margaery was able to handle them, but no one told him anything about her, and in the end he was about to believe her dead. No even her visit had been enough to convince him she was in charge now.

“She tricked them” Renly answered with a smile “She’s pretending to be by their side to get you out of here, but at the best moment she’ll probably carve out the High Sparrow’s heart with her own hands”

That scenario made Loras smile. He could definitely picture his sister doing so.

“I’m not her. And...” he paused “I can’t say what they want. They told me, and I... They’ll ask me to call you a traitor”

“Then do it”

“To deny everything there’s been between us. I already lied, I’m sorry. You must be mad at me for what I’ve said”

“I’d be mad at you if you hadn’t. Listen, I don’t care what you’ll have to say. Just say it and get out of here. Do it for me. I can’t stay here, doing nothing, unable to help you, while they torture you” Renly had taken Loras’ face between his hands and was looking him in the eyes “Get out of here, alive”

“I don’t want to say those things about you, I...”

“I love you too. And because you love me you have to do this. Lie, I’ll know you’re lying, don’t worry about me”

Loras reclined his head against Renly’s chest “Let me promise you something”

“Whatever you want”

“When I get out of here I’ll come visit your grave. I’ll bring you flowers. Roses, perhaps”

“Golden roses” Renly pointed out.

“Golden roses. Then I’ll fall asleep under that tree” he was referring to the tree under which they had kissed or the first time “And you’ll come to me”

“It sounds like a lovely plan, my love” Renly kissed him again, and Loras felt whole again.

 

 

When the High Sparrow came into the cell to try to make Loras repent from his sins he found him asleep, and – for the first time – smiling.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the original version:
> 
>  
> 
> Il sogno del prigioniero
> 
>  
> 
> Albe e notti qui variano per pochi segni.
> 
> Il zigzag degli storni sui battifreddi  
> nei giorni di battaglia, mie sole ali,  
> un filo d'aria polare,  
> l'occhio del capoguardia dallo spioncino,  
> crac di noci schiacciate, un oleoso  
> sfrigolio nelle cave, girarrosti  
> veri o supposti - ma la paglia è oro,  
> la lanterna vinosa è focolare  
> se dormendo mi credo ai tuoi piedi.
> 
> La purga dura da sempre, senza un perché.  
> Dicono che chi abiura e sottoscrive  
> può salvarsi da questo sterminio di oche;  
> che chi obiurga se stesso, ma tradisce  
> e vende carne d'altri, afferra il mestolo  
> anzi che terminare nel patée  
> destinato agl'Iddi pestilenziali.
> 
> Tardo di mente, piagato  
> dal pungente giaciglio mi sono fuso  
> col volo della tarma che la mia suola  
> sfarina sull'impiantito  
> coi kimoni cangianti delle luci  
> sciorinate all'alba dai torrioni,  
> ho annusato nel vento il bruciaticcio  
> dei buccellati dai forni,  
> mi son guardato intorno, ho suscitato  
> iridi su orizzonti di ragnateli  
> e petali sui tralicci delle inferriate,  
> mi sono alzato, sono ricaduto  
> nel fondo dove il secolo è il minuto -
> 
> e i colpi si ripetono ed i passi  
> e ancora ignaro se sarò al festino  
> farcitore o farcito. L'attesa è lunga,  
> il mio sogno di te non è finito.


End file.
